THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (71 page)

TWENTY-NINE DURYODHANA’S GHOSHA-YATRA
 

With an army of a thousand men, Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna set out for the Dwaitavana. With them went their wives, richly clad and adorned, traveling in golden palanquins. Musicians, pauranikas, dancers and other court entertainers went, as well, in a colourful troupe; and they made their way to the forest in fine chariots.

A yojana outside the Dwaitavana, was a lake of sweet water, with a feast of lotuses on it. In some woods, a short way from the banks of this lake, the Kauravas set up an elaborate camp. They pitched tents and furnished them with comforts hardly less than those of a palace. They had brought the finest cooks with them and a surfeit of provisions. First, Duryodhana went dutifully to inspect the cattle. When the heads were counted and recounted for good measure, all of which took three days, the Kaurava returned to his luxurious camp. The lake was not far from where the Pandavas had their asrama. But Duryodhana decided he would wait for his cousins to discover him; no blame would attach to him if they came to meet him of their own accord. Only if they did not, would he seek them out.

The first few days after the counting of the cattle were spent in an orgy of hunting. Strangely, or fatefully, the Pandavas, who were not far from all that savagery, heard nothing of their cousins’ arrival in the forest. Then one day, Duryodhana decided he would like to swim in the lake with his wives.

He sent some of his men through the woods to inspect the water. The lake was near enough his camp and three Kaurava soldiers arrived quickly at its side.

As these scouts knelt beside the water, suddenly melodious voices hailed them from all around. From the trees stepped tall figures, clad in silvery mail that no smith of the world had forged. Their brightness filled the dim woods; their faces were at once solemn and blithe; when they spoke, it was as if there was always a song in their throats.

One said in a ringing voice, “Mortals, who are you?”

“Don’t you know our king is bathing in the lake with his women?” asked another.

A third cried, “Dare you creep upon our king at his pleasure? As long as we are here, this lake is forbidden to humans.”

Their voices were musical, but full of menace. Duryodhana’s men stood rooted, they had never seen such wonderful beings before. The bravest of them mumbled, “Who shall I tell my prince says the lake is already taken?”

Laughing, the first tall one said, “Don’t you know the gandharvas of Devaloka?”

Another had a bow in his hand and an arrow that shone like a band of the moon. “Begone mortals!”

When they sensed the woods were full of shadowy presences, the Kaurava soldiers quickly turned back to their camp. They came nervously before Duryodhana.

“Well?” said the Kaurava. “Is the lake fit to bathe in?”

“My lord,” said one of his soldiers, “there are gandharvas in the woods. They say their king bathes in the lake with his women and no mortal may approach the water.”

Duryodhana frowned. “Did you tell them who I am?”

“No, my lord. They hardly gave us the chance.”

“Go back and say that Duryodhana of the Kurus wants to bathe in the lake with his queens. Tell them to leave at once, or I will send my army to remove them.”

The three soldiers took another ten men with them and went back to the woods. They walked under the trees for a while and saw nothing of the Elves. They hoped that, perhaps, the gandharva king had decided to leave the lake anyway, since he had been disturbed. They had not arrived at the water when, again, the dimness was full of tall figures materialized as if out of the very air.

“Didn’t we warn you off from here, humans? Didn’t we say our king bathes in the lake with his women?”

The Kaurava soldiers trembled just to see the gandharvas. Their presences were of untold age, yet it did not show on their bright faces or forms.

Mustering his courage, one of the soldiers declared, “The Kuru prince Duryodhana wants to swim in the lake with his wives. He orders you and your king out of here at once.”

The gandharvas’ laughter was like a terrible song among the trees. Their eyes glittered more fiercely still, so the soldiers longed to flee.

Another Kuru soldier managed to blurt, “Duryodhana warns you to obey him, or he will come here with his army.”

Again the musical, ferocious laughter: so old and so young. “Dare a mortal command the gandharvas of heaven, as if they are his servants? The least among us is far beyond your puny prince. Go back and tell him to be grateful we haven’t sent him your corpses as our reply to his insolence.”

“Go!” cried the other Elves and the soldiers obeyed with alacrity, for there was grave danger in their voices.

They came shamefaced before Duryodhana, who demanded, “Well? Have the gandharvas gone?”

“There were many of them and we ten couldn’t drive them away.”

“Did you tell them what I said?”

“We did, my lord; but they laughed and said they took no orders from any mortal. They said if we went back to the lake again, they would kill us.”

“Dare they! Gather the army. Tell Karna, Dusasana and Shakuni there is better sport about than hunting deer. We will show these singing celestials the might of the Kuru legions.”

Two gandharva sentinels in their tree-perches at the edge of the woods saw the Kuru army approach, with Duryodhana, Dusasana and Karna at its head. They flew back to their king at the lake.

“Chitrasena, the army of mortals approaches.”

“How many are they?” asked Arjuna’s friend and master.

“Some hundreds, my lord.”

“We are fifty. It will be a fair encounter,” smiled the gandharva, wiping his body with a cloth of tender leaves. “We will fight them.”

The Kuru force arrived at the edge of the trees, when, all at once, strange cries erupted among the trees. There seemed to be a thousand Elves in the darkling wood; so thickly and furiously did their arrows fly out to greet the soldiers of Hastinapura. And they were no common shafts but full of light and fear, each becoming ten and every one deadly.

The first wave of Kuru soldiers, those that did not fall, turned and fled. Karna blew a blast on his hunting-horn and plunged his chariot forward. Arrows as wizardly as the gandharvas’ shafts streamed from his bow and each one found its mark. Karna brought the Elves tumbling from their trees, shot through their arms and chests, crying out in their sweet voices.

Duryodhana, Shakuni and Dusasana came to join the fray and, though they were deathless folk, the gandharvas were driven back. The Elves realized these were no ordinary soldiers, but kshatriyas and masters of astras.

In a wink, the woods emptied, the immortals vanished like the breeze. Duryodhana’s army surged forward, roaring in triumph; and behind the fighting men, came the Kaurava women, borne in their golden litters: so assured was the Kuru prince. Meanwhile, the gandharvas were back at the water, under the spreading tree where their king lay among his women.

Breathless came his fifty to Chitrasena and cried, “They have at least three masters of astras with them; one, especially, fights like no kshatriya of the earth. He wears golden mail, as if it is his very skin and earrings of gold that gleam as if the Sun himself dwells in them! We cannot turn them back, Chitrasena; you must come yourself to fight.”

Chitrasena said thoughtfully, “The golden warrior must be Karna. He is, indeed, the blood of Surya Deva. Yet, he is only a mortal.”

Slowly Chitrasena rose and he was taller than the rest of his people. His face shone and, now that he prepared for battle, his eyes were like drops of star-fire. One of his lovely women strapped on his quiver for him and it was light as a breath. Chitrasena picked up his slender bow; but he did not go to fight Duryodhana’s force on foot. He took his women and climbed into the vimana that waited for him, not touching the ground.

Flitting through the trees like some weird spirit of the future, that disk flew at the Kuru army. At an open panel, sat Chitrasena: fierce and brilliant. From his silver bow, a storm of arrows hummed. They were shafts of sorcery and assailed the Kuru army with dark phantasms.

Terrifying specters beset Karna and Shakuni, Duryodhana and Dusasana and all their soldiers. Nightmares stalked the trees. Monsters out of dreams howled at them. A hundred vimanas flew at them, shining and smooth, every one full of fear. As a man, Duryodhana’s men turned and ran.

Bemused by the flashing armada in the air and on the ground and by the hallucinations in the woods, Karna reined in his chariot. But the gandharva king’s arrows brought not only dreams and illusions; other shafts brought death, very real and final. In moments, hundreds of fleeing Kuru soldiers were cut down. Chitrasena’s fifty warriors fought from the trees. They were angry at their earlier rout and irresistible now that their king led them.

Chitrasena’s vimana was everywhere. Five blinding arrows incinerated Karna’s chariot. Roaring, he leapt into a fresh ratha and fought on. But Chitrasena had seen that he was the greatest threat: he pursued Karna in the flitting vimana and consumed his new chariot as well. Karna could not possibly fight the gandharvas from the ground. Most unnerving were their musical cries; they were so haunting you wanted to throw down your bow and run away.

Karna fled the battle and then no one else could even remotely stand up to Chitrasena. The Kuru soldiers ran any way they could. Shakuni, too, quickly decided flight was better than valor.

Yet, there was one Kuru made of sterner stuff: Duryodhana stood his ground, roaring, a tide of fire flowing from his bow. But he was almost alone; only Dusasana and a few of his brothers stood with him. Chitrasena fought them from the air, from the trees and open ground, flying circles around them.

When all the other kshatriyas had fled, fifty gandharvas turned just on Duryodhana, Dusasana and their brothers. Duryodhana’s chariot was smashed under him. In a flash, a score of the immortals surrounded him and brought him captive to Chitrasena, who seized him by his hair and flung him into a metallic net, like an animal. Dusasana and all his brothers who stayed to fight were taken.

The palanquin-bearers of the Kuru princesses were neither kshatriyas nor heroes. They had panicked at Chitrasena’s first attack and, dropping their precious burdens, fled. In all their finery, dripping jewels, Duyrodhana’s wives were seized by Chitrasena’s gandharvas and flung tardily into the wide net. The desperate litter-bearers and some panicstricken soldiers with them, came flying through the forest to the Pandavas’ asrama. Yudhishtira sat before a sacramental fire at his daily worship, with his brothers around him.

The Kaurava soldiers came and fell on their faces before the Pandavas. Those men cried, “Yudhishtira, save us! A gandharva has captured Duryodhana and his queens. You must help us or they will die.”

Bheema began to laugh. He clapped his hands and cried, “Well done, Gandharvas! I am happy to know we have some friends left in the world. Fate has caught up with our cousin. He came here to gloat and he has the payment he deserves. Those who wish evil upon others find it for themselves!”

And he laughed again loudly. But Yudhishtira laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “This is no time to gloat, Bheema. The Kauravas are our cousins and between cousins, there will be misunderstandings. But they are our blood, our family and no outsider should harm them. The gandharvas have taken not only Duryodhana and his brothers, but their women. The women of our Kuru clan.”

Bheema began to speak, but Yudhishtira held his hand up and silenced him. “The Kauravas are our enemies, certainly, but our own honor is at stake here. Arm yourself Bheema; take Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva with you. Go and free our cousins.”

Bheema was livid. He cried, “What are you saying, Yudhishtira? You may be able to forget everything they have done to us; yes, with your yagnas and your dhyana, you may forget. But not I! They are paying for their sins and they have brought this punishment on themselves. You cannot ask me to fight the gandharva. Why, I consider him my dearest friend and I am in his debt forever!”

But with the anger of a patient man, potent because it is so rare, Yudhishtira flashed at his brother, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You sit here and let someone you don’t even know steal sacred revenge from you. Are you a coward, a weakling, or both, that you allow a stranger to take what is yours? Go and rescue them, Bheema. Only then will you be able to keep your oath, when the time comes.”

Bheema looked startled; he had not thought of it like that. Yudhishtira took him aside and, lowering his voice, said, “Knowing our cousin, I am sure Duryodhana wronged the gandharva. Yet, the Elf has taken not only him, but his wives. We can’t stand for that. The Kauravas are our enemies; they are a hundred against our five. But when an outsider attacks our kin, we must always be a hundred and five.

Bheema, receiving a boon from a God, inheriting a kingdom or having a son are fortunes indeed. But saving an enemy’s life is a pleasure equal to all those three put together!”

Bheema bowed, “You are right again, Yudhishtira. I will fight the gandharvas.”

Yudhishtira hugged him, “Try talking to the celestial first. Only if he doesn’t listen, speak with weapons. Jaya vijayi bhava!”

THIRTY THE SHAMING OF DURYODHANA
 

The four younger Pandavas set out, taking Duryodhana’s men with them. When they were still some way from the lake, they saw gandharvas in the trees, moving with the ease of wild animals. With them were the Kauravas they had taken captive, Duryodhana, Dusasana, their brothers and wives. Arjuna shot a clutch of arrows over the Elves’ heads. They stopped and turned angrily, weapons appearing in their hands as if by magic.

Arjuna cried, “Release my brother Duryodhana, prince of the Kurus!”

The gandharvas laughed at him. One cried back, “Mortal, haven’t you learnt your lesson yet? I told you, we take no orders from anyone but our king.”

Duryodhana’s face was a picture when he saw the Pandavas. Arjuna cried, “Gandharvas, you have taken my cousins’ women captive. Release them, or the earth will drink your unearthly blood.”

“Brave words, mortal!” said the gandharva, laughing melodiously. “And strangely, I think I have seen you somewhere before. But, Kshatriya, we have just routed an army of a thousand men and you four want battle with us?”

Arjuna raised his bow. “We four are four armies. Release them or fight!”

“Then fight!” cried the gandharva and the fifty Elves stood against the four Pandavas, with weapons raised.

Battle ensued, swift and fierce. The dark woods lit up with shafts of fire and light. What Yudhishtira said about strangers depriving them of their revenge had touched his brothers deeply; they fought as if their lives depended on this battle. The gandharvas filled those woods with illusions again.

But ranged against them now was Arjuna the Pandava, himself a master of the weapons of maya. He shot a golden shaft from his Gandiva. It exploded in stardust and the hallucinations vanished.

After this, there was no containing the Pandavas. Vimanas appeared like mirages among the trees and the gandharvas bundled their captives into these, clambered in themselves and flashed away. But Arjuna was not about to let them escape. He filled the sky with a cloud of arrows, which lashed the elven ships with molten showers. The quicksilver disks flew down again, prisoners and all.

And now the biggest gandharva vimana took to the air under Arjuna’s cloak of fire. At a clear panel in that craft stood Chitrasena. From his silver bow, a storm of light beset the Pandavas, who stood chariotless on the ground. Those shafts brought new illusions, not of fear, but delight. The Pandavas saw naked apsaras beckoning from the thickets. The fragrances of Devaloka filled the twilight woods, so the brothers wanted to fling their weapons down. Who wanted to fight, when heaven had come to the earth around them? Delicious languor filled their limbs.

But Arjuna had learnt all about these weapons of enchantment in Amravati, from Chitrasena himself. He did not know yet who the gandharva in the vimana was, but he knew the astra to dispel his visions. When this was done, in a moment, he covered the vimana with a volley of arrows that locked together in a shroud around the disk and drew it down inescapably to earth.

Arjuna was surprised the Elf gave in so easily. The brothers stood with their bows raised, as the vimana descended. But when the tall gandharva king stepped out of his craft and Arjuna saw his face by the dying light, he gave a shout. “Chitrasena!”

He threw down his bow and ran to embrace the unearthly warrior with starlight in his hair. Arjuna brought Chitrasena to Bheema and the twins and said, “This is Chitrasena, my master of music and dance. And these are my brothers, Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva.”

They bowed to one another; Chitrasena greeted them in old speech, he blessed them in the starry tongue of the gandharvas. Around them now the other Elves appeared with their prisoners. Looking at Duryodhana, who stood between two of his captors, his hands tied behind his back with green vine, his head hung, Arjuna said to Chitrasena, “Why have you taken our cousin and his women? They came to Dwaitavana to count their cattle. What harm have they done you?”

The gandharva took Arjuna aside. “His heart is black, the one you call your cousin. He is a devil, full of malice and conceit. He did not come to count cattle but to gloat. He brought his wives with him to make Panchali suffer. Indra knew what Duryodhana was plotting.

Indra said to me, ‘Go and protect your friend.’ Arjuna, these are my prisoners, fairly taken in battle. They are so full of arrogance they don’t deserve to be free. I will release them only to Yudhishtira. After I tell him why the Kauravas came to the jungle, let your brother decide what he will do with them.”

So all of them went into the Kamyaka, to the asrama where Yudhishtira had just finished his worship. Chitrasena dragged Duryodhana along, his head bent low and not a word from him. Yudhishtira received the gandharva graciously.

Chitrasena said, “He came to gloat over your privation. Say a word and he will die.”

But Yudhishtira looked alarmed. “I thank God you did not kill them, Chitrasena. Ah, my cousin is miserable. Let him and his brothers and women be free.”

Chitrasena said, “So be it then.” He nodded to his people and they cut Duryodhana and the others loose.

Chitrasena embraced Arjuna and bowed to the other Pandavas. The chariots of the sky had followed him here. He climbed into his vimana and so did the rest of the gandharvas. Noiselessly those craft lifted into the air, a shining squadron and flashed away quicker than time.

When the sky was clear, Yudhishtira turned to Duryodhana. He laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Being spiteful never brought anyone joy. Go back to Hastinapura and don’t be so rash again. Go in peace, I wish you well.”

All that while, ever since he was taken by the gandharvas, Duryodhana stood with his head bent down into his chest, so no one saw the shame in his eyes. Without a word, for he had no voice to speak with and his face and heart burning, he stalked out of the Pandavas’ asrama with his brothers and his wives.

When the Kauravas had gone, the asrama echoed with laughter. It was Bheema laughing and Draupadi with him.

“Did you see his face?” Panchali cried.

“Ah, that was sweet!” roared Bheema.

But Yudhishtira looked at them so sternly that they stopped.